Truths and Roses
by Volie Velum
Summary: Truths and roses have thorns about them. Henry David Thoreau. This story picks up at the end of "Ashes to Ashes". Walt and Vic shipping.
1. Chapter 1

Truths and Roses

Truths and roses have thorns about them. _Henry David Thoreau_. Picking up at the end of "Ashes to Ashes" Walt and Vic shipping.

Chapter 1

I stood there looking at nothing in particular. My mind was racing along the twisted highway of sights and sounds that assaulted me in the last 24 hours. Or had it been longer than that? It had to have been longer. Too much crazy transpired to fit into just one day. I reviewed the impressive list of events trying to make sense of it all. The Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time, with a little help from her Dad, exposed Detective Fales for what he was, a criminal. Relief and elation. Charges against Henry dropped meaning he was no longer in jeopardy of dying in prison for a murder he did not commit. Relief and relief. My spreading Martha's ashes as I chose to let go of the myth that keeping them protected me from myself. Relief with sorrow. And most recently, the reason for standing outside Room 33 at Durant Memorial, Barlow Connally, shot by his son, and my deputy Branch. Confusion. Shock.

Vic had been angry with Ruby for calling me to the scene. As I pulled up, I saw a line of official vehicles and pulled in behind Vic's unit. I wasn't sure if I was moving in slow motion or if it was everyone else, but time was definitely altered somehow. The paramedics hovered over someone sitting on the ground. Not six feet away, were two officers deep in conversation as they knelt beside a body. I recall as I stepped out of the Bullet, the images came into focus. The person sitting on the ground and the officers all looked up at me in unison. As if the scene hadn't been surreal enough, I now realize all three of my deputies are present. Was Branch injured? Ruby said someone was shot. Who was it that Vic and Ferg were examining?

I never got a step closer to see for myself. Suddenly Vic stood inches from me and was blocking my view. She must have flown or teleported, both seemed possible considering it all felt like a dream. Placing her hand on my cheek, Vic had turned my gaze away from the others and ordered me to watch only her lips. At first, I thought she was about to kiss me. Had it been any other time, a kiss from that foul but luscious mouth would have been appealing. A kiss hadn't been her aim. Instead, she fed me the story in tiny, manageable bites. The truth began to sink in later when I sat watching Branch retell the story. Barlow Connally orchestrated the murder of my wife. Barlow was the puppet master and David Ridges, Hector, and Jacob Nighthorse a mix of pawns and collateral damage. Barlow Connally killed my wife. I made a silent declaration. Barlow will die.

It was Doc Bloomfield's voice that brought me back to awareness. "Barlow will die.", "What?", "Walt, Barlow isn't going to make it." I waited for more before responding. "I thought doctors weren't supposed to say that. That someone will die. Aren't you supposed to say 'unlikely to recover'?", "When I'm talking to the family, yes, but I'm talking to the Sheriff.", "And the guy whose wife was killed by that bastard. ", I added. "All the more reason to tell you he isn't gonna make it. God will pass judgment before man." His ardent stare delivered the rest of his message to me; don't do anything stupid, Walt.


	2. Chapter 2

Truths and Roses

Truths and roses have thorns about them. _Henry David Thoreau_. Picking up at the end of "Ashes to Ashes" Walt and Vic shipping.

Chapter 2

"Walt! Are you listening?" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. "Oh, Sheriff Longmire?" That's not Doc Bloomfield. When did he leave? "I know you're pretending not to hear me, but don't expect me to pretend I'm not angry." The last part triggers my memory. It's Victoria "The Terror" Moretti. I'm not sure I was pretending not to hear, but I'm thankful for the suggestion. "Seriously Walt. You've got to learn some new avoidance tactics. This silent business gots to go." Maureen O'Hara loved The Quiet Man. I guess not everyone's a John Wayne fan. "Why don't I count to 3, and then you come back to reality?" Actually, I'm not really The Quiet Man John Wayne. "One." I'm more Sands of Iwo Jima John Wayne. "Two. You better be ready." I consider telling Vic about my newest revelation, but I'm too tired to get punched right now. "THREE!", "True Grit!...Ouch." Judging from the force with which Vic's fist met my right shoulder I figure she won't be interested to know that John Wayne won an Oscar for his role. She growls, "Try again." Glen Campbell recorded the title song, also nominated for an Oscar. Rhinestone Cowboy is a little before her time. So, that's not going work, either. But, not saying anything will definitely earn me another blow. "They filmed some of True Grit in Colorado in the San Juan Mountains. Might be a nice place to visit, if you ever take that time off I offered." She lets out a sigh as the fight in her eyes fades. I know the look. Once again I have been the trigger for her emotional journey, The Mood Tour, starting at Concern City, heads 20 miles to Fear Town, turn left at Anger Drive before stopping at the Hurt Hotel. All I ever aim to do is spare others from hurting. To serve and protect, that's me. I know I can't fix it all, and I will still try every damn time, hoping somehow this once I WILL make everything alright.

"I'm…I'm sorry Vic. I'm just a bit preoccupied I guess.", "Look, I know this is a lot to handle. I mean, God Walt, it's hard for me to process. But please, don't shut me out." Vic places a hand on my chest timidly fingering the cotton fabric of my shirt. We both study her fingers as she strokes the material. This is nice. But, I do need to focus on my plan. Though, I suppose the case for Frontier Justice is a bit weaker now with Barlow confessing. Seems everyone involved in Martha's death is either dead, dying, or facing criminal charges. Perhaps I'm out of the revenge business before I got started. My fingers intertwine with Vic's as I stroke her palm with my thumb. A tender moment shared. Those golden eyes bore through me in anticipation. I will disappoint them. I often do. "Tell me what I can do for you Walt." Taking a step back I break our connection. It's all business now. "Help Ferg collect the witness' statements. Get with Doc Bloomfield on how soon he'll have those medical records. And, make sure to get all the evidence labeled, documented, and stored.", "Okay?" Another sigh, but this time she is gearing up. "And you will be doing what?", " I uh…I've got to head over to… to handle some things." My words trip over themselves as my conscience battles the temptation to lie. Funny how my moral compass allowed me to plan this devious act, then shames me for trying to lie about it. In my best impassive voice, an under appreciated talent, I add, "And, when you're done with that leave your written report on my desk." Turning away, I head down the hall. "Oh sure, I get it." Her tone suggesting she doesn't. "You gotta go do some thing for some one some where for some reason. Makes some sense." I looked back just in time see the air quotes highlighting each 'some'. "Just so you know Sheriff, and you may not cause I haven't put my report on your desk, but our only open investigation is unfolding right here in Room 33. You see, that Nighthorse jerk whose been causing you such a headache, well he's headed for prison. Oh, and Henry, he isn't. Ferg is over his 'your desk is bigger than mine' complex. And in case you hadn't heard, Abaroska County is fresh out of murderous control freaks, soul stealing Indians, and even our local anti-government cult leader stopped causing trouble right around the time you shot him.", "So?" Vic is back on The Mood Tour. She waves her arms while doing an exaggerated 'I give up on you' shoulder shrug. "So, where are you going that you need that end of day's arsenal you got in the Bullet? Assuming you are planning to return after your secret mission, should we expect you back tonight or should we just wait for you collect call from county lock up? Oh wait, that's us, DUH! So I guess I'll see you either way." I froze. That she had noticed the extra fire power in Bullet was no surprise. That she would accuse me of the very thing I plan to do, that's what rattles me. Suddenly the growing familiarity between us seems more of a liability than a bonus. I shake it off and continue through the exit door, headed for the parking lot. Headed to complete my plan.


	3. Chapter 3

Truths and Roses

Truths and roses have thorns about them. _Henry David Thoreau_. Picking up at the end of "Ashes to Ashes" Walt and Vic shipping.

Chapter 3

It's a long drive out to Jacob Nighthorse's cabin. Yet, the ride is short enough that the Judge won't have made a decision on the indictment from the County Prosecutor's office. The warrant for Nighthorse's arrest won't come through before morning. We've managed to keep the public from knowing how serious Barlow's condition is, or even what his condition is. And only a handful of folks know about the confession. I use this time to review my plan and its purpose. As the mile markers pass, my thoughts refuel my resolve to see justice.

This is for Martha, for Cady and Martha. I promised them both I would find those responsible for my wife's death and hold them accountable. The fact that this promise was never spoken to the living does not invalidate it. Martha dedicated her time to welfare of our county which included the CasiNo initiative. She wasn't what Barlow saw, an annoyance, a threat to his family's kingdom. She was the girl I fell in love with and the woman who stood by me through all my missteps. She was the reason we had our wonderful daughter, though she always said I had at least a 40 quart bucket's worth of influence on Cady's turning out so terrific. An exaggeration for sure. Martha was more, so her death was more, thus justice needs to be more.

In an attempt to keep the moral lawman in me quiet, I turn on the radio and fiddle with the stations to find something that doesn't sound like a musical car wreck. Soon enough, I'm driving down the feeder road just west of Nighthorse's home. I chose it because it's the closest I can park my truck without leaving it visually exposed. I check over my gear twice before stepping out onto the dirt path. I make a 360 visual survey of the area, before looking for a spot that gives me the best advantage to see Nighthorse's place.

Patience is a blessing, but time is not. Without a radio to distract me, I consider the case against confronting Nighthorse. This act will likely remove me permanently from my loved ones. I assure myself that Henry will understand, or at least will be the most likely to understand. Cady has Henry. Henry's been my rock, my best ally. He'll look out for Cady just like she looked out for Henry through the Beck case. Rudy, Ferg, even Branch all have family and friends in their circle.

Vic is the Lone Ranger. Even when Sean was here, he wasn't there for Vic. Now she's getting divorced, no family in the area. Not that Vic would seek out her family if she were hurting. I don't think Vic ever trusted anyone with her hurt, except me. I've been the audience of one as my shapely friend's turbulent emotions played out. Shapley? Funny how the mind seems to pick words randomly. Vic is shapely, but she's also stubborn, forceful, sarcastic, and foul mouthed. Not that I haven't noticed her shape. It's a good shape. Her abrasiveness coupled with her sex appeal seems to make her even more attractive to the entire male population of Abaroska County. Count me in…God, what am I thinking?

My eyes hurt. My head hurts. Some shuteye would be good. Maybe I could just lean my head back against this tree. Forget it Longmire! What kind of dumbass spends six years waiting and plotting, then falls asleep to miss the one opportunity for revenge when there's only 10 minutes to go? Dumbass? Damn that Feisty Italian and her colorful language. Vic. She's angry with me, hurt. I can see it, though, I've had her as my second on nearly every investigation for months. Ferg was right. I shut him out. Used to be I'd work the four of us as a team. Ferg was green but eager. Branch was a pain in my ass but a hard worker, even if only to showcase his talents to potential voters. Kind of forgot there was a time I didn't always have Vic by my side.

Vic loves to tease me saying she's my work wife and I'm her work bitch. Can't help but smile recalling the time she informed me I owed her an anniversary dinner. I came back with the fact that one of the perks of having an office spouse, is you don't have to do all the extra romantic bullshit. She called me out on it. No secret I'm something of a romantic, believing a man should take a woman out on dates, open doors, hold the umbrella, and so on. If you tease Vic you got to be ready to get it back twofold. "Well Walt, if that's how we're gonna define this thing we got going here, then I guess you know that means I'm not cooking you any meals, mending your shirts, or otherwise cleaning up after you.", "Wasn't asking you to.", "And sex is off the table. Unless that's where you prefer to have it." Then she flashed that feral grin. Boy Howdy she had me blushing and adjusting my jeans like a teenager. And it wasn't the first time she affected me like that and and I hoped it wouldn't be the last. Feels good, feels right thinking of us getting closer, sharing more of ourselves, taking the relationship beyond the office. For so long my mantra was "There's nothing going on between me and Vic." I'd said it so many times, I had fooled even myself, for awhile. I do love Vic. A fact I accepted facing Chance that night. I was willing to do anything to protect my woman. A sentiment not so different from now as I wait under a blanket of stars, to avenge the murder of my wife. Am I choosing to give up a possible life with Vic to commit an act necessary because I lost the life I had with Martha? Is this plan of mine necessary?

I'm reminded of something another powerful woman in my life once said. My Dispatcher, Ruby, had said I live too much for the dead and not enough for the living. Martha, on her last day on this Earth, fretted over my inability to forgive. And not too many hours ago Doc Bloomfield pointedly reminded me it was God's role to pass judgment. Love, Life, Forgiveness. How would more violence change the past or reduce the pain in the present?

A pair of bright beams and the sound of tires on gravel shook me from my reflections. He was arriving home, as I was arriving somewhere else. Now I make out the sound of an engine turning off followed by the slam of a car door. I watch as he walks to his front door. Seeing him doesn't illicit rage. That long held singular determination to write a wrong is absent. I feel indifferent. Suddenly I notice a large dog, probably a lab. As the dog comes closer to his master, his pace quickens and his tail wags with excitement. The dog stops and sits staring expectantly at the man. The dog is rewarded with a scratch behind the ears. The long tail thumbs on the paved walkway. To that dog, the man I defined as number one enemy, is a best friend, a companion, a source of joy and hope. As soon as the man and beast disappear into the house, I head for Bullet to rush to my best friend, my companion, my source of joy and hope, and hopefully my future.


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling up the drive to my cabin, I am relieved to see Vic's white cruiser parked in front. I cut the Bullet's engine, and find the silence deafening. I guess I expected to see the Feisty Italian standing on the porch, arms crossed, foot tapping, welcoming me with a string of expletives. Vic came here to find me or to find out about me, so she would have been enflamed. But, if she's been here long enough she may have lost steam. Maybe she's napping to rebuild strength before unleashing her wrath. All that matters to me is seeing her and being with her. I proceed up the porch steps. Opening the door, I hesitate to enter, "Vic? It's Walt." Funny I should pause and announce myself before entering my own home. It's an automatic signal used by law enforcement when entering a strange home. Just about now, everything feels strange. Stepping in I take a look at the living area and adjoining kitchen. Looks a bit like a crime scene. Items turned over and drawers pulled out. Couch cushions, throw pillows, and a Broncos blanket Cady gave me for Father's Day, all gather in the center of the room as if holding an emergency meeting. They're probably discussing the recent wave of vandalism and putting together a composite of the suspect. Female, 5'6", 115-125 pounds, 30-35 years old, blonde hair with dark roots, wearing skin tight 501's, a sheriff's badge, and armed with a filthy mouth and fists of fury. It occurs to me this would make a hell of a tongue twister. Five foot, female, five-o-ones, fists of fury…. It also occurs to me I'm stalling.

Turning 360 degrees, I surmise nothing is missing or broken. I spot a lone empty Rainier on the edge of the rug near the kitchen. Memories flood my consciousness. It had been close to 36, no 48 hours since I stood here. Time remained intangible with so many other details parading through my mind. I recall returning Horse to his stall after our sacred journey to say goodbye to my late wife. More than one can of beer was emptied as I transformed from grieving widower to The Lone Avenger. I see myself standing at the kitchen table methodically readying my guns. I was focused and so certain of my purpose. And now, I've wiped away the fog that blinded me. This new found clarity allowed me to plan a future and discard the plan that only offered an end. I can't help but wonder what had Vic thought when she saw the evidence of my vigilante justice spread across the table? What would Henry have thought, or Cady if she had been the first to enter the cabin after I had completed that original plan? The image of my daughter standing where I stood now, made me ill.

Taking in a deep breath, I exhale and start for the closed bedroom door. This time, figuring one really doesn't need to knock in one's own abode, I rotate the handle and step through the doorway. The vision of the figure curled upon my bed gives me pause. She lay in the fetal position, facing the window. Hugging my pillow to her chest, her fist held onto my worn quilt. I gaze upon the blonde hair spilling around her face, her peaceful, beautiful face. She appears so small, so vulnerable. I replay the many times I have witnessed The Terror burdened with a contrast of emotions. A tendency we both possess. A recall once Vic pointing out that we each guards our innermost thoughts and emotions like our life depended on it. Later, Vic's willingness to let me see her vulnerability allowed me to open myself to her. That act of trust, of growing intimacy between us this past year, extinguished any illusion that I had not fallen in love with my deputy.

I imagine what it'd be like to lie down on the bed behind her, pulling her to me. Her back pulled flush against my chest. I imagine the feeling of my arm around her waist and the softness of her hair as I bury my face in the nape of her neck. I could unabashedly drink her fragrance, something I only chance quick whiffs of when she rides beside me the Bullet. My body responds to the arousing fantasy I have created. This is not the time. I want our first time kissing and holding each other to be a part of a more agreeable event. I turn and pull the door closed behind me reluctantly accepting the softest think I'll feel tonight will be the sofa.

"Walt! Waaalt!"

The screams jolt me out of deep sleep. "Walt…no NO!" I leap off the sofa and run to the bedroom. It's Vic. The room is dark, but I'm at her side instantly. Her restless form is tied up in bed sheets with her feet poking out and kicking fiercely. Both eyes are closed with tears wetting her face. She's having a nightmare. Placing both arms under her body, I pull her into my lap. Vic squirms, pushes against me as she continues to cry out for me, saying something about my being gone. Holding her tighter I rest my cheek on the crown of her head and repeat, "I'm here Vic. I'm right here. Everything's okay." Not sure if I'm reassuring Vic or myself. "Walt?", "Yes, yes it's me. Look at me, Vic." Her troubled eyes searched mine for answers. "You had a nightmare. Whatever it was Vic, it was just a dream. You're safe. I'm safe. Everything's fine.", "You came back." It was a statement of surprise mixed with relief. Emotions created by my self-centered agenda. "Yes, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You looked so peaceful when I got here, I didn't want to disturb you." She shifted her body to sit up straighter. The sensation of her ass moving against my crotch felt a little too good. Her warm breath on my face, her fingers tracing my jaw line, a glimpse of her breasts where her t-shirt hung open all heightened the sensation. "Walt? How can you disturb me? This is your home Walt. Why not wake me and tell me to leave? ", "Didn't want to.", "To?", "Didn't want to wake you. Didn't want you to leave." With a long sigh, she leans forward to rest her forehead on mine. "Vic, I'm sorry. You were right, earlier about...the investigation and…I should have stayed. I know I was hurtful and I worried you...I didn't mean to. I just…messed up. But I came back and found you, and I'm not gonna do that again.", "Found me? I was half naked in your bed. How could you have missed me?" I smiled at the hint of sarcasm hoping it meant she was truly alright. "I tried a few places. Didn't see your truck in front of the office, so I drove to your house. After that I figured you just may have come here. Now tell me, what was that nightmare all about?" Her whole body shook so slightly had I not been wrapped around her; I may not have known she did it. Vic tucked back under my arm so she could place her ear to my chest as she grabbed a handful of my t-shirt. "It's the same damn one I've been reliving since…Chance. Sean and I in that lunatic's cellar, the gun shot, Sean telling me he called you, that you were coming to help, then the body bag falls through the ceiling." The tremor in her voice returned. She was crying. I moved my hand to stroke her hair using my elbow to cradle her shoulder. She continued. "I thought it was you. I pulled on that zipper…I had to get you out of there. I'm just sobbing your name over and over. It was like there was nothing, no one else, just you and I. The land beneath me was Walt Longmire. The air I was breathing was Walt Longmire. The blood in my veins was Walt Longmire. I knew if you were dead, I was gone too. ", "But, it wasn't me, Vic. It was the Federal agent.", "Yes but…at night...when I…unzip… the bag… it's you…pain…Walt pain." Her words escape through sobs. Her tears dampen my shirt as my tears trail down my cheeks. I know this pain Vic's describing. It's the pain that plagued me following Martha's death. The pain that consumed me when I knew Vic had been kidnapped and likely by Ed Gorski, the psychopath with a powerful motive to hurt Vic. The pain that only intensified once I knew Vic's real kidnapper was a different psychopath, Chance Gilbert, one with a powerful motive to hurt me. It's the absolute despair that overtakes you when the one who holds your heart, your kindred spirit is taken from you. And now it's another thing Vic and I share, not just the capacity to feel this kind of pain, but the capacity to love each other so deeply.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sun's rays tickle my eyelids and I refuse to give them my attention. Can't recall the last time I slept so soundly. It'll take more to raise me than light peeking through the bed sheet I nailed over the window. Vic named it the Hillbilly Curtain. Vic. I roll away from the window and reach out to pull her close, but I can't find her. Opening my eyes, I lift my head and search the room, but no Vic. Can't help but be disappointed. What a gift to have her curled up next to me through the night, her head resting under my chin, one hand possessively holding a fist full of my t-shirt. I'd hoped to find her in the same spot when I woke.

I find the object of my affection in my kitchen brewing coffee. Not sure what to expect from her. One night lying in my arms probably wasn't enough to pay for all my sins, so I decide to tread carefully. "Morning." My morning voice is gravelly adding to my allure, I hope. "It speaks." My sarcasm meter registers her reply as four out of ten. I'm optimistic, but resist the urge to reach out and touch her. "You look good."; "You look like hell." Vic's tone is predictable, but not hostile. "Hope you slept well last night. I know I did." I flash my most charming smile. Her luscious lips tighten and anger replaces what appeared to be merely confusion. Holding my breath, I await Vic's response. I want to believe that our brief talk last night and my apology for worrying her have moved us past the contentious discussion we had at the hospital. Yet, I can see even now she's still hurt and she deserves my patience and my attention.

"You slept well, did you? How nice for you. Want to tell me where you were last night, you know before you were driving around looking for me?", "Just sitting and thinking.", "Oh, that's all. So, I suppose we're talking about the kind of…" For her next words Vic makes the sign for air quotes. "sitting and thinking you can't do at home, or at the station, or without extra ammo? No. Wait. Good grief! Just listen to me! I've turned into a nag." The sarcasm meter just hit eight and it's still rising. "You don't have to answer that. I'm acting like a silly little girl, getting all insecure. What is wrong with me? I mean I asked you a question and you answered. You really do trust me. God, I was so stupid to think you were hiding something from me like you didn't think I could handle the truth." And, that's ten. There is so much I want to say and I'm not sure what to address first. She turns away and fiddles with the coffee, a sign she's retreating. She knows I won't let her hide her emotions anymore than she would let me. The tendency to want to spare others from our inner dialogue is one of our commonalities. Encouraging each other to share, and then trusting enough to open up to the other is one of the ways we help make the other a better person. When I gently place a hand on her shoulder, she jumps slightly then turns back around. I look directly into her golden eyes now filling with tears. "Vic, I think you know I trust you. I wouldn't have you by side if I didn't trust you. You are one of the strongest people I've ever known and I've known some pretty rough and tough characters. When I do keep stuff in it isn't that I think you can't handle it, but because I believe you shouldn't have to." My ears sting at the sound of my own words. In all my wisdom, I've missed the point, again. I have kept Vic at my side through so much of late, that Ferg essentially accused me of playing favorites. No wonder she's angry I pushed her aside without even the smallest of considerations for her feelings. "Vic, I didn't mean to…I guess I thought it was my problem that you…Vic, I'm sorry. I never mean to hurt you. For all you think I may hide from you, you've got to know it's only a drop compared to what I show you. You mean more to me than you realize, it's just…some things are going to have to be, well, private."

We face each other both waiting for some sign. I know what I want from her, but right now that's got to be second. I hope I spoke to what she wants from me. Her shove as she races past me is a sure sign I got it wrong. I watch in silence as she ties her boot laces then collect her belongings. I don't want her to leave, but I won't say anything. It took more gumption than I knew I had to tell her I wanted her to stay in Durant, and that was to make up for my original stoic but false response to news she may move to Australia, and after I gave her the divorce papers from Sean. Now is not the time to talk about the possibility of an 'us.'

Vic opens the front door before turning one last time to face me. "So, I take it you've said all you are going to say? Everything, that is, that's not private! Well Walt, I guess I owe you an apology for last night when I told you something very private about me, all about the nightmare, how I felt, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and then I really broke Walt's Privacy Rule when I let you hold me then shared your bed. Damn, that was insensitive of me. And to think if you'd asked, I would have fucked you." The door slams as she exits and all I can think is that she wants me. She _wants_ wants me! Boy Howdy!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Two days. Two long days. Only two days. Today it has been two days. If anyone could read my thoughts right now, I'd be committed for lunacy. Boy that would be a nice break from reality. Hey, that's funny. Lunacy a break from reality. Stop it Longmire, you're a mess!

Not sleeping, not eating, drinking plenty, pissing like a race horse, and wasting time wandering around some of the darkest corners of my mind. What else am I going to do?

I've got a list. Vic's on that list. Two days without a word from Vic. Ruby keeps reminding me that isn't true. Apparently, Vic let Ruby know that she needed some days off. Ruby doesn't share my agitation that Vic didn't specify how many days she needed or why. All I got from Ruby was 'ask her yourself." Sure, I'll call Vic right after I pull my foot out of my mouth and heart from my stomach.

Besides, I really doubt she'd take a call from me. Can't say I blame her though. I never should have started talking that morning after we had shared my bed. Once I got to talking, each sentence came out worse than the next. Maybe I can claim I had a sudden and rapid onset of dementia. Or maybe I had one of those mini strokes. Vic would just insist I provide a doctor's note to prove it. You'd think after hearing me talk people would stop giving me a hard time for being a man of few words.

I can't keep replaying that train wreck of a conversation. I suppose I could be grateful my department won't be short staffed with two of my three deputies AWOL. Jim Wilkins is sending one of his deputies to help us out till Branch returns or I find a replacement. Guess now I owe the Cumberland County Sheriff a favor. I'll add that to my mental task list. I also owe Ferg a thank you for arranging it. Another task for my list.

At Ruby's urging, I decided to talk with Branch. We chose to meet in the family waiting area on the floor of Durant Memorial, where Branch's father lay in a coma. We sit side by side in mauve stuffed chairs both staring at our boots on the mauve industrial grade carpet. I noted the hospital's interior designer, if there is such a person, seemed cognizant that a room drenched in one color may not have the calming effect one was aiming for, if there was an aim. A large picture hung above a row of mauve chairs along the mauve painted wall. The abstract image displayed a rainbow of mauve, pink, and rose colors with a bold strip of baby blue. I think the shiny silver plastic frame really added a touch of class to the whole piece.  
>Branch let out a long sigh. He didn't seem any more comfortable than I was. Ruby probably got to him too.<br>"Uh, Branch?"  
>"Yeah, Walt?"<br>"You doing okay?"  
>"I guess. You?"<br>"Anything new with your father's condition?"  
>"You really asking?"<br>I can play 20 questions all day. I'd say I'm semi-pro. My daughter Cady reached professional level by age 3. A daddy can only answer so many things, or so I tried to explain to her.

"Ask your mother?"

"Why?"

What a punk!

Then I'd tell her it was National Don't Ask Why Day thinking I'd out smarted her. All that ever got my smart ass was a barrage of 'what ifs'. One time Martha told me she read in a magazine you should answer back with 'what do you think?' It had something to do with nurturing a kid's language and logic skills. Cady must have read the same article cause at age 4 her favorite thing to say was 'what do you think?'

"Walt, you didn't have to see me. I would've understood."

"You know they say preschoolers ask so many questions because they are developing logical reasoning. Around time kids are in middle school they stop asking questions. And, once they get to high school, they give up on logical reasoning and talking." I add a sideways grin to punctuate the joke.

No response.

"Look, Branch. I can't ask you to come back, not yet. We can talk about how you'll earn your way in. That is, if you still want to come back."

"I don't know Walt. I know that's what I wanted, and maybe that hasn't changed, but everything else has. I've got a lot to think about right now. But, that doesn't mean I won't help with this investigation."

"I know Branch." I'm sure this is what Ruby wanted us to talk about, what we should be talking about, but I'm so raw from the revelations and happenings over the past weeks that I just can't afford to spend my last dime of sanity. Not right now.

"The truth is I want to run as far as I can from here and clear my head. But, I've got to handle things first. I am my father's only son and…"

Branch chokes on his last words, like he's holding back tears. I feel bad for him. This wasn't all his doing. For all the crap Branch has pulled and all the trouble he's caused me over the years, I won't fault him for his father's crimes.

"Honestly Walt, I hope he doesn't make it. It'd be easier that way."

He looks at me. His eyes are haunted. My sympathy swells. What had he gone through to go from being a man who had been so confidant and full of desire to this this shell of a person? I pray he won't have to see more than a fraction of the ugly I've seen through my life. I give his knee one reassuring pat.

"It's okay. What ever you're thinking or feeling right now doesn't make you a bad son, or a bad person. We're all gonna have to face our sins some day and no man will be able to protect us. There's nothing more you can do for him at the moment, other than take care of yourself. Ruby, Ferg, we're all here for you. Just cause you aren't in the station right now, don't think you aren't still a part of our family." I stand to leave.

"I notice you didn't mention Vic."

It sounds like an accusation. I flinch slightly, then slowly inhale and slowly exhale. "Ferg will contact you soon to let you know if there's anything we need for our investigation. And, if you do leave town, be sure Ferg or Ruby has your contact info."

"Okay. Thanks Walt."

"Sure." And with that, I march down the hall feeling a little lighter with one task off my list.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hope you enjoy this, the first of two chapters showing the healing conversation between Walt and Vic following their disastrous talk in Chapter 5. Thanks for all of the comments and suggestions. I enjoy the many Longmire stories you have all contributed. I hope to grow into a writer, as strong as, all of you! **

Chapter 7

The relief I feel leaving the hospital gives me a bit of clarity. Though how I was able to walk into that hospital and not walk straight into Barlow Connally's room to give him a proper good bye, I can not say. It's not that I don't want to. I do. Maybe it was the same spirit that kept me from taking down Jacob Nighthorse. Or maybe it's far less noble. How much vindication would there be confronting a comatose man? Seems like Barlow would get off easy and I don't want to make anything easy for him. I quiet the vengeful man in me. I return to the protector, the fixer, and the flawed man who always as the best of intentions.

I suppose that's how I ended up in front of Vic's home.

Vic steps out of her front door as I turn off the engine of my truck. She must have heard me drive up. From this distance, as sunset is coming to it's end, I can't make out her facial features.

"Walt? What are you doing here?"

"Not sure." Not a good start, Longmire!

"Okay?"

I wait to see if she has more to say, as a gentleman should for a lady.

"Is that all?"

'Not really' almost escapes my paralyzed lips. You have to get it right this time, Sheriff!

"Are you waiting for me to invite you in?"

"Are you going to?" Dang. "I mean may I come in?" Improving.

She steps aside for me to walk in. As I do, I notice a few stray boxes, books piled in a corner, and what looks like the makings of a bed on the sofa.

"Why didn't you call to say you were coming?"

"I don't have a cell phone." I give her a mischievous grin. No response. Guess she only likes her jokes when she's telling them. "Truth is I didn't know I was coming."

"Okay?"

"Vic, I wanted to make sure you were alright. Are you alright?" I causally point at the evidence something has transpired. "Ruby said you called in to say you needed some days off. I take it Sean's been getting ready for his transfer to Australia."

"Yeah, he left this morning, actually. Yeah, he's gone, gone, gone."

The melancholy in her voice saddens me. Having feelings for her, doesn't lessen my genuine worry for her as she goes through this loss. "Vic, I'm sorry. I know this can't be easy with Sean and the divorce. I know you love Sean and as hard as it's been for you two you aren't one to give up on something or somebody, I mean you must be, well, it can't be easy."

"Yeah. I guess. I don't know." Vic pulls the blankets and pillow off the sofa dropping them in a heap on the floor. As she sits, she motions for me to sit next to her. "Maybe his filing for divorce is easier. Decision made for me."

I accept her invitation and sit on the sofa leaving a respectful distance between us. "As I recall you were pretty angry with Sean the first time he put in for a transfer to Australia without asking you."

"I was. And, he went right ahead and did again. Only I guess he'd say he really did ask me this time. Or set me up, depending on how you look at it."

"How's that?"

"Like I told you before, Sean insisted I quit the department or our marriage was over. He said he was done pretending. Pretending! Can you believe that?"

I silently nod to say I concur with her astonishment.

"Was I really pretending? Cause, I got to say, all that anger and hurt felt pretty real to me."

Vic pauses and the look she gives makes me think her next words are about me or for me. I've seen the look before, one of thousand in her repertoire. Each look has a distinctly unique message, most of which I still haven't deciphered in the few years we've known each other. But this look is saying she needs me to hear this next part because it's the most important part.

"I do love him."

"I know Vic. He surely knew that, he just…well, I don't know what he thought. He's made a mistake leaving someone like you, at least as far as I'm concerned." Did I just say that out loud? Yep. Selfishly, I'm hoping Sean never realizes his mistake.

"See that's the thing, Walt. Sean believed I loved him, but not like I should have or how he needed me to love him. Sean never fully let go of the idea that you and I had some kind of a thing. He said he believed me that there was no inappropriate relationship between you and I, but he still saw you as a rival. That demand that I quit my job, I knew what he really meant was I had to choose him or you."

"Vic, I don't…"

"No, Walt. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm saying Sean had it in his head I wanted you not him. It's crazy. Trust me I told him that."

"Vic. I'm not so sure Sean was completely wrong. I'm not saying it's anything you did, or at least not just you, but me also."

"What are you talking about?"

"The hospital. After Chance released you and Sean, and we were all being assessed for injuries. You were sitting in the room with me and not with your husband. I don't mean you did anything wrong. But, I know if I were your husband I would want you there with me."

The mood has shifted. Vic sits up a little straighter, her chin up in a defensive posture. "Well, Walt I don't recall you complaining that I was with you at the hospital."

"No, I didn't. I wasn't your husband, and it wasn't my right. But, I that's what I wanted, you there with me." I fix my eyes on hers asking her to see my vulnerability. I hope she heard what I didn't say. That I said I love her and I want to be her husband. Whoa cowboy! How's that, again? Maybe I didn't hear what I said.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Vic's look is contemplative. My resolve is failing. I know I didn't say it out loud, _Vic I love you and I want to be your husband_. Still, she can read me pretty damn well. "Vic, I guess what I'm trying to say is I've been noticing that sometimes I think of you as more than my under sheriff. Not saying I planned to act on my feelings. I respect you and I respect Sean and what marriage means. I would never insult any of us by having an inappropriate relationship with you."

"That was never an option!"

The statement is superfluous. I know she holds fidelity in the highest regard. It's the agitation in her voice, like the thought of her and I together disgust her. She's just referring to the idea she would have cheated on Sean. Don't take it personal Longmire. "Vic, listen. I'm not saying we would have, should have, or I wish we did. I'm admitting that Sean could have picked up that I was attracted to his wife. So he didn't like you working so many hours with me, knowing I wasn't involved with anyone else. And, you're right. If he truly understood who you are, the depth of your love and loyalty, he would have known he was the only man you wanted to spend your life with."

"You sound pretty confidant with that summative."

"I'm just talking about how I saw things."

She continues. "You failed to mention that the dearly devoted husband accepted and sometimes volunteered for job assignments that kept him from his wife 182 days last year. The year before it was 147 days. Odd thing for a jealous husband with an adulterous wife to do, don't you think?"

"I didn't realize he had any control over his travel schedule."

"Yes, he did. In fact, when we talked about leaving Philly, Wyoming wasn't our only option. But, Sean insisted we put as many miles between us and Ed Gorski as possible. Of course, I agreed. What right did I have to say no when it was the consequences of my colossal stupidity forcing us to move?"

"Vic, you didn't know that Ed or his partner were capable of the things they later did."

"Didn't I? Because if I didn't Walt, then I'm not the detective I say I am. And just maybe a cop who falsely believes she is a good judge of character is also wrong to think she knows what she really wants. Was I really a faithful wife? Can I really say that the person I want to spend the rest of my life with is Sean? How could either of those be true when I'm either with you or thinking about you every hour of the day then dreaming about you every night?"

My chest tightened as Vic's admissions became more and more self recriminating. There was an emotional and physical toll on Vic, as well. Defeated, her upper body became limp, and she curled into herself until her elbows resting on her knees and her face hiding under her golden hair.

I lean forward and place my hand on her shoulder. She didn't flinch, so I begin to gently massage her shoulder. Maybe a full 60 seconds later, she tilts her face so she to look at me. The tears rolling down Vic's face further pull me in. I need her to know I hear her confession and it doesn't scare me. As I shift my body to draw her closer, she wraps her arms around my neck and I lift her onto my lap. We move simultaneously until her head rests on my shoulder and my cheek and hand rest the crown of her head. To me it is the most comforting and most natural thing. I make a silent prayer that we may share moments like this often and over many, many years. If I truly want this, I need to show the level of transparency Vic just gave me.

"Vic. The other morning at my cabin. I shouldn't have let you walk out that door. I should have stopped you."

"Okay?" I feel her body tense.

"I woke up feeling so good, rested, like I was restored. Aside from the events leading up to it, sharing my bed with you that night, having you close was special to me. But, I was afraid to say so. Afraid you may not be ready to talk about, well stuff I probably wasn't ready to talk about either. Still, I acted that morning as if we were starting from a new place, but for you it was still the night before, before I came home, before you knew if you'd see me again."

"Exactly!" Vic sat up to make eye contact. "What was I supposed to think when you went off on your top secret mission? You told me you wanted me to stay, to stay in Durant. For what? So you could leave and I could sit around and pine for you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then what? You can't tell me when you left the hospital _to handle some things_ you were planning to come home."

"No."

"So what is it you want to tell me?"

She no longer sounded confrontational as those beautiful eyes stared back searching for the truth. "Vic, I want to live this life I've been afforded. As many risks as I've taken, putting myself in danger for the greater cause, I'm still here. I don't know if I believe everything happens for a reason, but I do believe in transformation and in redemption. I'm finally able to see that being alive is a gift rather than a curse. I just want to make the most of it."

"Wow. That's really deep. I mean it's really good. I think Cady and Henry both would be very happy to know you are starting to think about yourself for once."

"Sure, but that's not what it's about. It's about seeing through the loss and embracing the blessings. There's this proverb, most often credited to poet Henry David Thoreau, _Truths and roses have thorns about them. _To me it means something beautiful may come behind something painful. Losing my wife was the pain. I almost didn't survive it. But, I did and now I'm letting go of the pain, my thorns, and I'm opening up to the beauty on the other side, the truths and the roses. Vic, there is no doubt in my mind I wouldn't have come back from that dark place without you showing up in my world with your unique blend of firm compassion and insistent patience. Vic, you are my truths and my roses." I pause. My words are heartfelt. I want her to take in my message without becoming overwhelmed. I lean my cheek upon the top of her head as I pull her back into our embrace.

"Walt?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saying what you just said. For saying you want me in your world. For being you."

"You're welcome. I like being me with you."

"Ok Roy Rogers, don't over sell it." Her sarcasm is all the reassurance I need.


	9. Chapter 9

Truths and roses

Chapter 9

I hear her footsteps as Rudy enters my office. "Walt. That was the hospital."

I'd heard the phone ring. Up till just now, the phone and the whole office has been rather quiet and peaceful. After our talk the other night, I think Vic, and I know I am feeling at peace. There's always more to say, but I figure now that we've walked over the first hurdle, we can wait on the rest. I look up at Ruby. She hasn't said another thing since she entered so she's likely waiting for my undivided attention.

"Ruby, you okay? You're crying."

My words must have alerted Vic as she is now peering in the doorway.

"Someone's got to go over to Memorial. Branch, he…Barlow Connally died at 2:15 this afternoon. Lucian is there but he isn't the comforting type. I thought maybe I should go, but really Branch needs you Walt. He really does look up to you as a father figure."

Vic snorts. I tilt my head so I can look past Ruby at Vic to give her a look to say _not now, this is serious_. Vic throws her arms out wide palms facing up meaning_ this Branch looks up to you crap doesn't erase the fact that it was Branch's actual father that paid to have your wife killed, so you DO NOT need to be the one to comfort Branch now that your wife's murderer died!_

It occurs to me I have only a basic comprehension of the language of Italian hand gestures. My translation may be a bit liberal. Or maybe the message is really coming from the contempt I feel for the demonically departed. Of course I'll go to the hospital to offer my support. I help people. That's what I do even if it costs me sorrow and pain. And, I'll tell myself I'm not just there to help, but I'll also be demonstrating forgiveness. I won't believe it. It's not true. But, I'll still go.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"It you ask me the Bastard got off lucky!"

Lucian Connally has been a non stop hostility dispenser since Vic and I arrived at Durant Memorial a half hour ago.

I can't help but reply. "Don't know about that. Barlow's been sentenced to an eternity in hell."

"That's what I'm talking about. If he'd come out of that coma I would have dragged that no good kid brother of mine by his short arm on a tour of the bowels of eternal damnation right here in Abaroska County. He'd be begging to go to hell!"

I sigh. "Lucian, I don't think there's any part of the county one would describe as _the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth_."

I turn to Vic. "Matthew."

"Uh huh."

"The Bible."

'Yeah." She snorts her reply. Vic's done nothing but snort since we arrived. I've asked her twice if she needs a tissue or decongestant, but that just leads to louder snorts.

Thinking to escape the Den of Sarcasm and Fury, I head back into Room 33. As I do, I can hear Vic naming various eateries and home addresses in the county she thinks fit Lucian's description of hell. Then exuberantly announces, "And that's just in Durant!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Walt, you don't have to stay here for the formalities. I'd understand if you have to get back to the station."

Branch is appreciative. He paces and fidgets like he doesn't know what he should be doing. I know from experience how lost one can feel when a parent dies. Suddenly you're the one in charge and without the benefit of the guidance you had growing up. When my father died, Mom and I made the arrangements. Mom made a point of writing out her wishes for her funeral so a couple of years later when it was time to bury her, I knew how to proceed.

With Martha, I didn't know what to do. When she was going through the chemo, Martha tried to tell me her funeral wishes, but I was too stubborn, naïve, or both to listen. When she was taken from us, I told myself I wasn't a bad husband for never taking time to listen to Martha's wishes. She thought the cancer would kill her not some junkie. As if Martha would have wanted something completely different had she known she would be murdered like a 'surprise it wasn't cancer that got me' themed service. If hadn't been for Henry and Cady, there wouldn't have been even the low key no frills memorial Martha did get.

"I get that my father's death is, well, that my father isn't someone you'd cry over. I won't sugar coat it, Walt. Barlow Connally was a lying manipulative man who killed a good woman because of greed. I know I wouldn't be able to look at me let alone be supportive."

It's not my deputy or the rival who tried to take my job that I see before me. Nor do I see the jackass who slept with my daughter or the fanatic who became consumed with finding a dead man. I see a boy who is dejected and exposed. Branch needs and deserves guidance. But he's right. I'm not the one to do it.

I acknowledge the truth in Branch's assessment by offering a nod before turning to walk back into the hallway. Vic is there waiting significantly more subdued then earlier.

"Let's go."

Vic silently follows me towards the exit. I pause to say my goodbyes to Lucian as we pass him.

"I'm out. Ruby will be coming to help you and Branch with whatever needs to be done. And Lucian, you will do everything Ruby says and the way she says to do it or I'll drag YOU through the bowels of eternal damnation in this and the next county."

Vic snorts, but this time I add, "So true."


End file.
